


here's my heart (you can break it)

by blackkat



Series: Family Ties [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi and Madara massacre the clan, but they miss one member. Obito, loyal Konoha ANBU and disowned Uchiha, suddenly finds himself out of the organization that’s been his life for eight years and raising a traumatized, orphaned child. Kakashi helps. </p><p>Or watches and plays the smartass, it’s a bit of a tossup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here's my heart (you can break it)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my new favorite Naruto pairing, and how the hell did that even happen? (And apparently kid-fic is a thing with me now. I'm sorry?)
> 
> (Title from U2, my what-the-hell-do-I-call-this-stupid-thing default source. In this case, _Love and Peace or Else_ from _How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb_.)

For three days after the massacre, Sasuke stays with the Hokage, who is entirely sympathetic and never asks him any questions at all. He sleeps in one of the guest rooms, eats with Sarutobi when he’s forced, and exists in a haze of suspended emotion that has yet to give way to anything at all.

Itachi killed the clan.

His aniki killed _every last Uchiha_ , and then made Sasuke relive the deaths of their parents again and again. Sasuke does not know what one is supposed to feel in this sort of situation, can't image it, and wonders in a vague, detached sort of way when he’ll start to hate the big brother he has always so adored.

Because surely hatred is the answer here, right?

And then, at noon on the fourth day, a dark shape drops through Sasuke's window to land in a crouch next to his bed. Sasuke freezes, taking in the battered white mask decorated with streaks of black and muted grey over a snarling mouth, a lynx’s face on a human form, clad in black with a gray flak jacket, and carrying a sword strapped to his back. He knows that uniform, glimpsed it on Itachi more than once, and when he sees the long braid of midnight hair down the man’s back he wonders with sharp horror if Itachi has changed his mind and returned to kill Sasuke, too.

But then the man steps forward and drops to one knee in front of Sasuke, hands rising to pull at his mask, and Sasuke sucks in a sharp breath at the face that’s revealed. It’s a handsome one, as with all Uchiha, but this man only has one eye, one Sharingan. The left is covered by a simple dark orange patch, and the right side of the man’s face is deeply scarred, as is the right arm where it’s bared by the sleeveless uniform. Nevertheless, the shape and paleness of the face, the hair color, the dark eye all leave no doubt—this man is an Uchiha, regardless of the fact that Sasuke can't ever remember seeing him before.

Another Uchiha.

That means Itachi failed, and one more survives.

(The little surge of angry satisfaction at the thought of his brother’s failure is the first thing Sasuke has felt since he woke to blood and bodies. He relishes it, savors it, hoards the thought that he is not the last Uchiha left no matter how many of their kin Itachi slaughtered.)

“Sasuke,” the man says, and to Sasuke's shock he smiles, bright and soft, an expression that no Uchiha would ever show so freely. “Hey, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. There was a mission, and I only got back just now.”

So that’s why Itachi missed this man. Sasuke meets his eyes and nods solemnly, even though the blank shock that’s lasted for four days now is finally cracking. “Who are you?” he whispers, and his voice is ridiculously hoarse.

Something sad flickers over the man’s face, not hidden in the slightest despite the clan’s strict policy on showing emotion. But a moment later it’s gone, and the Uchiha reaches up with a smile to lightly ruffle Sasuke's spiky hair.

(Sasuke is achingly grateful that it isn't a gentle poke to the forehead.)

“I'm Obito,” he says kindly. “Uchiha Obito, your, um, third cousin twice removed, I think. You don’t remember me, right? Last time I was in the compound, you’d just been born, so I don’t blame you. But I'm here now, and I’d like you to live with me, if that’s all right with you.”

“In the compound?” Sasuke asks with trepidation, remembering blood and offal spilling across the ground, cheerful homes turned into a vast and silent graveyard.

But Obito is shaking his head before he even finishes the question. “No, sorry, Sasuke. I was banned a few years ago, and without the Clan Head to reinstate me the wards won't let me inside. I've got an apartment near the Academy, though, right across from the park. Would that be all right?”

Maybe, without someone to pull him away, to show him another option in such a way that it is no longer merely an option but a _choice_ , Sasuke would go back there. He would remember Itachi’s words about weakness and obsess, hiding there among the last remaining vestiges of his clan. But now, with Obito—who, even banished, is still an Uchiha—here in front of him, so kind and open even though Sasuke is undoubtedly useless, weak as he is, Sasuke doesn’t want to. He’s got another remnant of his clan beyond the empty compound, and an abandoned shell will never be able to compete with a living person.

(Another part of him sees the ANBU uniform, registers the mask, and understands that Obito is very strong. If that’s the case, then maybe Obito will be willing to teach him to be strong as well.)

“Yes,” he tells Obito, throat tight and eyes burning. “Yes, Obito-nii.”

The honorific makes something in Obito's eye go soft and sad, and he leans forward, hands cupping the sides of Sasuke's head as he gently kisses his forehead. “I will never betray you,” the man whispers, and when Sasuke looks up, there are tears on his face, running down his cheek. “I swear, Sasuke. On my life, my honor. I swear.”

Obito is crying, and at the sight of it something inside of Sasuke cracks right down the center, breaks apart and leaves him shaking and sobbing, because surely if a strong ANBU like Obito can cry Sasuke is allowed to do the same. Even if Sasuke's father always lectured him angrily when he cried, Obito is an Uchiha, a powerful ninja, and he’s weeping freely.

It feels like a release, a surrender. But it doesn’t feel weak, because Obito wraps his arms—one pale and perfect, the other deeply scarred—around Sasuke's shoulders and pulls him into his lap, holding him close as his body heaves. He’s warm and smells like tree sap and green leaves, like spring, and Sasuke clenches his fists in Obito's vest and simply hangs on.

One more Uchiha. One more family member standing between Sasuke and despair.

 _Aniki_ , Sasuke thinks, even as Obito murmurs soft and caring words in his ear. _Aniki, you didn’t win. You didn’t murder the whole clan, and I’ll never let you touch Obito. You’ll_ never _win. I’ll get strong enough to stop you without ever becoming_ like _you_.

 

Sasuke cries himself to sleep soon enough, and Obito cradles him carefully to his chest, cursing the boy’s older brother to the deepest pits of hell. He’d thought that Itachi was one of the few who actually deserved to carry the Sharingan, who could be trusted to protect Konoha. Apparently he was wrong, and now Sasuke, all of seven, has to carry the burden of that failure.

There's a soft thud as another masked nin lands in a crouch on the windowsill, breathing a bit more heavily than normal and all but radiating exasperation. “Lynx,” he says warningly.

Obito doesn’t bother looking up at his partner, whom he’d left back in the forest as soon as the Hokage’s message reached them. It’s possible that he should have pulled the other man along with him when he used Kamui, but he’d hardly been thinking clearly at that moment.

“Don’t worry so much, Hound,” he says, keeping his voice light regardless of the tears still trickling down his cheeks. “That mask was getting a bit beaten up anyway. I’ll get a new one, keep it away from Sasuke, and my secret identity will be safe. No problem.”

A sharp sigh, and Hound slides into the room, settling on the floor and leaning back against the wall. “Not what I was going to say,” he chides. “No matter what kind of rule-obsessed bastard you think—”

“Know,” Obito chimes in helpfully.

“— _Think_ I was before, that ended when I thought you were _dead_ ,” Hound reminds him. “And it’s not like you did anything to correct that assumption until a _month_ _later_.”

“I got _captured_ ,” Obito retorts, even though this is a very old argument and ground they’ve covered more than once. More than a hundred times, really, in the near decade since it happened. “What was I supposed to do, ask the Iwa interrogators to kindly send you and Minato-sensei and Rin a note? ‘Alive after all, enjoying the thumbscrews. Back soon, don’t wait up.’ Really?”

“It would have been helpful,” Hound drawls archly, nose in the air, and Obito wishes for something to throw at him. Or the freedom of movement to reach his exploding tags without waking Sasuke. That would work, too.

Thought of Sasuke pulls his attention back to the boy unconscious in his arms, and Obito looks down at his little cousin, aching for him. He knows what it’s like to grow up without a family, but unlike him, Sasuke actually _knew_ his. He’ll miss them all the more for it. Obito himself feels little more than vague regret at the loss of the Uchiha clan, because as much as he bears their name and their signature dojutsu, he was never _one_ of them. He had refused to conform, and they had exiled him for it. That, at least, invokes emotion, but it’s closer to anger and disgust than the grief he’s supposed to feel.

There's a long pause, and then Hound asks idly, “Apartment by the Academy? Last I checked, you skulked around ANBU headquarters whenever you weren’t on a mission. Did Itachi even know you were _alive_ to kill you?”

That’s…actually a rather good question. Obito was banished from the clan less than a week before the Sandaime tapped him for ANBU, and since then he’s tried to avoid showing his face in the village unless absolutely necessary. Most of the ANBU he serves with don’t even know he’s an Uchiha, because unlike Kakashi's way of fighting, Obito tends to rely on Kamui, which is not exactly a typical manifestation of the Sharingan.

“Maybe not,” Obito allows with a shrug. “And I _do_ have an apartment. I just…haven’t been using it lately.” As in, for _years_. But it’s nothing a good spring cleaning can't cure. Probably. Hopefully.

With a soft sigh, Obito heaves himself to his feet and resettles his mask, Sasuke cradled securely in the crook of his arm. Truthfully, Obito has very little idea what he’s doing. He’s been ANBU since he was sixteen, and now, just past twenty-one, he’s entirely adjusted to existing as a cog of the secret organization. Near-civilian life with a traumatized child to care for is going to be…interesting.

And it’s going to keep him from hunting down his traitorous cousin and tearing him apart, unfortunately.

“I know that look,” Hound drawls, keeping pace with Obito in a long, easy bound to the roof of the nearest building. “That’s your ‘I want to do something stupid and only my current obligations are stopping me’ look. What’s up?”

Not for the first time and definitely not for the last, Obito curses how well his partner knows him. “Itachi,” he admits, though it’s reluctant. “If he’s got his Mangekyo, I'm probably the best person to face him. Kamui makes me all but untouchable, as long as I can sneak up on him, and even if he’s a genius—”

“We,” Hound interrupts, and the usual lazy intonation has changed to something sharp-edged and firm. “ _We_ are the best ones to face him, Obito. Our Sharingan eyes, my genius, and your passable tactical instincts should be enough to give us an edge.”

“So humble,” Obito grumbles, but he’s secretly grateful for Hound’s unwavering and unquestioning support. “Passable, huh?” He leaps from a building to a wide tree branch and then up to the railings of his apartment’s balcony. The door is unlocked, the traps he laid are undisturbed, and everything is startlingly, unnaturally clean.

“Passable,” Hound agrees cheerfully, disabling the traps and opening the door for Obito and his burden. “This place smells freshly cleaned. Looks like a friendly house spirit decided to help you out.”

Obito snorts, settling Sasuke on the couch and pulling a blanket he doesn’t remember owning off the arm to cover him. “I wouldn’t _personally_ call the Sandaime Hokage a friendly house spirit, but if you want to, I suppose I can't stop you.”

Hound pulls his mask off and snags Obito's, then dumps both of them on the low table, flopping backwards into a chair. “He thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” He sounds mildly impressed.

“That’s probably why they gave him the job,” Obito agrees, surreptitiously rolling his eye. One last check that his cousin is sleeping soundly and he sighs tiredly, dropping down to sit on the floor with his back against Kakashi's knees. He’s filthy and weary to the bone, head throbbing subtly with the release of tension that comes with a mission’s end. It was a complicated assignment this time, retrieving kinjutsu scrolls from the Tsuchikage’s personal vault. Too much time spent planning, not enough spent sleeping, especially coupled with their run back and the sudden rush of horrified adrenaline when the Hokage’s summons alerted them of the massacre. Obito is fairly certain he hasn’t been this tired since his return to Konoha from the hospitality of the Iwa T&I Department.

Long, deft fingers comb through his hair and drag over his scalp, and Obito moans, leaning in to the touch. Behind him he can hear Kakashi's breath hitch softly, and hides a sigh. They’ve been dancing around each other for years, closer than friends but not quite lovers, and now that Obito's future has suddenly become far more settled, he wonders what’s going to change. Not the attraction, apparently, and he’s hardly about to quit ANBU when there's still so much good he can do there, but he will be sticking a bit closer to home, taking fewer missions unless his specific skills are desperately needed. It’s likely that Kakashi will do the same, because they're partners and have been from the very beginning, one of the most efficient—if not _the_ most efficient—such pairs in the whole organization.

As though reading his thoughts, Kakashi sighs softly and tugs a little on his braid. “Cutting back, then?”

Obito looks at Sasuke, still pale and worn, and makes himself nod. He loves being ANBU, loves the thrill and the rush and the _challenge_ of it, but some things are far more important. Family’s one of them.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I think we’ll have to. Otherwise it’s…not right.”

(Neither he nor Kakashi have any family any more outside of those few they’ve chosen for themselves. It’s never mattered before, but here and now, Obito can see that there's no choice in this. Sasuke is his now, regardless of anything.)

“We should ask for some time on Naruto's guard,” Kakashi suggests after a moment.

That’s actually fairly brilliant, and Obito immediately dips his head in agreement. Minato-sensei’s son is his spitting image, right down to those big blue eyes, but he’s got his mother’s personality, and if anyone’s going to be able to keep up with the hellion it’ll be the two of them. They’ve had experience with the original, after all, and no seven-year-old is going to be able to match Whirlpool’s Red Hot-Blooded Habanero.

Or so he hopes, anyway.

 

Sasuke wakes to early-morning sunlight, a light breeze, and the quiet clatter of dishes from the kitchen. The room he’s in is painted a pale blue, like the sky outside, and has two windows standing open. Curtains flutter softly as he sits up on the bed, blanket falling away, and blinks at the neat rows of books on their shelves, the closet door standing ajar and the interior filled with unfamiliar clothes.

There's a soft knock at the door, and it opens carefully. Obito leans in, catching sight of him, and then smiles. “Ah, you're awake. Breakfast is ready if you’d like some, Sasuke.”

Sasuke nods silently, mind whirling, because this bright, calm, beautiful world is so very different than the dark nightmare he’s woken to for the past four days, so much so that he can't tell if this is a dream or not. But his cousin is still there in the doorway, scarred face solemn and sad as he watches Sasuke. He’s dressed in a white tank top now, with loose black combat pants, and Sasuke can see that the scars on his right, just barely visible through the well-worn cloth of the top, go all the way down his chest and side. On his left, there are yet more marks, these ones maliciously deliberate. Even for a shinobi, they're very bad.

And then there's his missing eye. Sasuke doesn’t want to think about what could cause an Uchiha to lose an eye, a Sharingan.

A gentle hand smoothing over his hair brings him back to earth, and he blinks up at Obito hovering over him. “Okay, Sasuke?” Obito asks worriedly. “Did you have nightmares?”

Sasuke thinks about it, and is entirely startled to find that he didn’t. He shakes his head. “No,” he says, and his voice is still hoarse, but it’s getting better. “It was…good.”

That hand ruffles his hair again, and Obito pulls away with a smile. “Good,” he echoes. “Come on, get dressed. The food’s getting cold.” With one last touch, a pat to Sasuke's shoulder this time, he turns and slips out of the room, pulling the door closed after him.

Still a little dazed by the peacefulness of it all, Sasuke slides out of bed and pads to the closet and pulls it open. As he’d thought, none of it is his old clothes, and Sasuke wonders if he should be resentful or grateful for the entirely new start. No memories is good, but at the same time it’s also…sad.

None of the books are his, either. Not his parents’, not Itachi’s, and that’s…confusing. Sasuke isn't used to this much of a conflict in how he’s supposed to feel. He’s always been a cheerful child, especially for an Uchiha, and he openly adored his brother, even when he resented their father for never acknowledging him. But this is something different, to be torn between relief and aching regret, because he’ll never again be able to look at anything that was his family’s without remembering blood and corpses.

He takes a shirt and a pair of pants from the wardrobe, and decides that he’ll be grateful. He’s not going to forget his family, and he’ll never not be their son, but here, with Obito, he can make an effort to put the tragedy of the past at least a little behind him.

When he emerges into the main part of the apartment, it’s equally sunlit and bright. There are windows everywhere, and a wide door out onto a balcony stands open. It’s warm, and there's a certain ethereal softness to the glowing wood and light fabrics everywhere. Obito is in the kitchen, setting out plates of food, and he’s humming something soft and soothing as he works. His hair is in a long tail rather than a braid this morning, but there's a gentleness to him that keeps him from looking even remotely like Itachi. Sasuke's brother was kind, certainly, but he was also an aloof person, held up by the clan as superior to everyone, and it kept him apart from even Sasuke.

“Just to warn you,” Obito says cheerfully as Sasuke takes a seat at the island counter, “I haven’t had much call to cook since I was sixteen, so this could be a disaster. Be on your guard.”

Sasuke wonders a little at that, even as he pulls a dish of seared salmon closer to him. There's miso with eggplant, too, and rice, and an omelet with tomatoes and green onions. He avoids the natto, but everything else smells wonderful and makes his stomach growl. Actual hunger is a surprise, as he hasn’t felt it in days now.

“It’s good,” he tells Obito, who’s picking the eggplant out of his miso with a strange, amusedly resigned expression. Sasuke wonders why he made it that way if he doesn’t even like it.

Obito smiles, still bright, still soft, and nods happily. “Good,” he echoes. He glances up at Sasuke, setting his bowl aside. “The clothes fit? I had to guess your size, since the compound is still cordoned off, and I couldn’t get in regardless.”

“They fit,” Sasuke acknowledges, even as his mind latches on to the memory of Obito saying he was banished. “Why were you exiled? I thought that the clan didn’t do that anymore.” He tries to imagine Obito committing a crime severe enough for such a punishment, but can't. The man is kind and cheerful, openly emotional, but there were other cheerful people in the clan, and his kindness seems like it wouldn’t let him do anything bad.

Obito tenses, just a little, and reaches up to touch his covered eye. “Ah,” he says, rather warily. “I’d…forgotten that you didn’t know.” When he looks up at Sasuke again, there's something strained and weary in the lines of his face. “You see, I was never quite like a normal Uchiha. I don’t believe that showing emotion is a weakness, and I never made myself conform. It didn’t help that my Sharingan didn’t awaken until very late, by the clan’s counting. And when it did…” He hesitates again, his fingers tracing along the edge of the patch and then glancing over the scars on the right side of his face. “When I _did_ manage to activate my Sharingan, I was on a mission with my squad. My teammate had lost an eye saving me, and the cave we were in was being collapsed by an Iwa nin. I pushed him out of the way of a falling boulder, but it hit me instead. I was dying, and since he’d lost an eye for me, I offered one of my Sharingan in return. Our third teammate did the transplant, and then they had to evacuate.”

A thrill of horror runs down Sasuke's spin, and under the counter he clenches his hand into a fist. Obito willingly giving up an eye to a non-Uchiha—it’s unheard of in the clan, something that Sasuke doesn’t have to ask about to know it’s utterly forbidden.

(But that’s not the only reason for the sudden double-time beat of his heart. Obito almost _died_ , was almost _killed_. They’ve only known each other a few hours, and yet Sasuke already can't stand even the thought of such a thing.)

Obito is still watching him, a crooked smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says with a sigh, tapping another of the scars on his cheek. “That’s what these are from. Thankfully, the Iwa nin decided that a living, breathing, trapped Konoha chuunin was too good an opportunity to pass up. They pulled me out of the rocks and saved my life so they could question me. After a month, I managed to get free and make my way back to Konoha. But after that, the clan wanted my teammate to give up my left eye, and I refused to make him.” With an easy shrug, he returns to his meal, popping a piece of egg into his mouth and quickly swallowing. “It was a gift, and I wasn’t about to take it back. So they banished me. I can't say I was heartbroken about it, either.”

Sasuke wonders at that, because even if he’d ever lost his family, he would still have had the _clan_. To be stranded without that, cut off from the Uchiha name and everything it encompassed, would be like getting marooned on a barren island in the middle of the sea. Even now, Sasuke can't imagine that. He also can't imagine hating someone as nice as Obito for a situation like that. They're his eyes, after all, and even if he chose to give one to a non-Uchiha, surely that’s his choice alone.

The decision is easy to make, after that. Sasuke sets his chopsticks down and says solemnly, “Then when I become the clan head, I’ll reinstate you. You're still an Uchiha.”

Obito blinks, clearly startled, and drops another piece of egg. He stares at Sasuke for a long moment, frozen stiff, and then he smiles. It’s even brighter than before, brilliant and thankful and everything that has never been directed at Sasuke before. “I’ll look forward to it,” he says softly, and they finish the meal in companionable silence.

(Halfway through, Obito drops his head to wipe futilely at his cheeks, and whispers, “Sorry, sorry, something in my eye.”

Sasuke watches him, and doesn’t comment, because it’s a simple lie and entirely transparent. As good an excuse as any, though, and Sasuke doesn’t think he’ll be crying again anytime soon, but still files it away for later. Might be handy, and all of that.)

 

Despite Sasuke’s insistence that he’ll be entirely fine, Obito insists on walking him to the Academy when he’s declared fit to return. The older man is cheerful as they go, carrying a large bento for Sasuke's lunch, while Sasuke carries his bookbag.

“I’ll get stronger,” Sasuke says suddenly, interrupting a complaint about the older man’s partner. “I’ll get really strong, Obito-nii. I promise.”

There's a long moment of silence, and Obito halts in the center of the road. Sasuke stops next to him, confused, and that confusion only deepens when Obito turns to face him and drops to one knee. He sets the bento aside and puts his hands on Sasuke's shoulders, dark eye almost unnervingly serious and expression somber.

“Why?” he asks softly. “Sasuke, can you tell me why you want to get stronger?”

Sasuke hesitates, but he gets the feeling Obito won't accept anything less than the full truth. Swallowing, he says tentatively, “Because…Itachi killed our parents. He killed the entire clan, and the only reason I'm alive is because I was too weak to be worth killing. Next time we meet, I have to have the same eyes as him so I can kill him.”

Obito's single eye is sad. “Revenge,” he murmurs. “You want revenge.” He bows his head for a moment, and when he looks up, his Sharingan has colored his eye a bloody red. “This is the Mangekyo Sharingan,” he says unhappily. “Sasuke, the only way to gain the Mangekyo is to kill the person closest to you. My partner and I had to kill our teammate, the girl I loved, to save the village—that’s how I awakened mine. It’s powerful, yes, but nothing is worth that power.”

One scarred hand settles on Sasuke's head, gentle but entreating. “Sasuke, if you gain the Mangekyo, if you kill the person closest to you, you’ll be just as bad as Itachi. Please, don’t do it. I can't bear to lose you too, on top of everyone else.” He smiles at his younger cousin, small and soft. “If you want to beat Itachi, learn his weakness. The Itachi I remember was always alone, always lonely. He didn’t have anyone to depend on. So make friends, Sasuke. Make friends and grow strong together with them, form such bonds that they’ll help you when the time comes, and you can beat Itachi together, and then all come home alive. That’s true strength, don’t you think?”

Sasuke looks at Obito, eyes wide. Then his face turns thoughtful, and then determined, and he nods. To Obito's surprise, he throws himself forward and wraps his arms around the older Uchiha's neck.

“Because you're closest to me,” he whispers, shy and a little uncertain how Obito will take it. “You're the one I’d have to kill, and I’ll never let that happen, Obito-nii.” Then he pulls away, scoops up the bento box, and heads for the Academy at a run, waving over his shoulder.

Obito stays kneeling in the road, entirely stunned. After a moment, he carefully reaches up to run a faintly shaking hand through his hair. “Oh,” he says belatedly, blinking in shock.

A soft snort comes from behind him, and a strong hand hauls him up out of the dirt. “Nice speech,” Kakashi drawls, draping an arm over his shoulders.

There's a long minute of bemused silence, and Obito slowly shakes his head. “Well,” he says wryly, “I suppose that’s one way to dissuade him. But…”

Kakashi tugs gently on his braid, even as he takes a step away. “Maa,” he says, feigning disinterest, even though Obito can see his eye crinkling in the way that belies a smile. “Whatever works. And now you’ve got a kitten of your own to look after. Very exciting.” The Copy-Nin turns and ambles towards the village proper, pulling out his stupid orange book as he goes, and asks over his shoulder, “How about some dango?”

“But you don’t like sweets,” Obito protests, following his partner anyways—just like always.

Kakashi casts him a sidelong look and murmurs slyly, “But you do.”

It’s possible that he’s wrong, but Obito gets the feeling that this is Kakashi's socially retarded way of asking him out on a date. It’s about time, too. He swallows a laugh, allows himself one last look at the Academy as the school bell rings, and then gives in. “All right,” he says, cheerfully resigned to his fate, and hurries a step or two to tuck his arm through Kakashi's. “But put away the damned porn, Hatake. I'm not going to be seen in public with you while you're reading _that_.”

The pout on Kakashi's face is unmistakable, ever-present mask or no. “But—”

“ _Away_ , Kakashi. _Now_. Or you won't be getting any more stimulation than that for _years_ , regardless of where this relationship goes.”

Apparently that’s blatant enough for even Kakashi the Misanthropic Wonder to pick up on. The Icha Icha book vanishes without a trace, and he adjusts his arm until Obito is tucked right up against his side. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he says airily, and Obito rolls his eyes and lets himself be dragged along.

It’s hardly all good, but it could be quite a bit worse, and Obito's learned to count his blessings as they come. Sasuke's one, most certainly.

Maybe Kakashi can be another.

 “Porn away, Hatake, _now_. Don’t think I don’t see you reading on my blind side, asshole.”

“Maa, Obito—”

Or maybe not. Kakashi's always been one of those mixed ones, after all, and Obito's fairly positive that _nothing_ can change that.

And that he would never _want_ to change it, even if he could.


End file.
